Hauntings

I just recently watched a series named Haunting of the hill house. I thought, like any other horror series or movie, it will be funny! I would have a laugh in my mind for every scene that’s supposed to be scary, and move on to something else. Well, I guess not. I am still stuck in the series even though I have finished watching it.

Some imaginary story illustrated in the imaginary world of TV and Film can sometimes have that effect on your mind. You know sometimes… sometimes you are watching a sad scene and tears start flowing down your cheeks without your eyes noticing. And sometimes your heart smiles without your lips noticing. It’s just all an imaginary world that sucks you into it. Lets you play a part in it where you watch it with your eyes while your heart and mind start their work. The work of relating your own memories, fears, guilt and emotions to the world your eyes are watching. But can some series or film be that relate-able that you start living it? Every day, 24/7? Or have you been living it for-ever.. even before you watched it?

I want to write about it. People ask me how was the series and I say oh it’s amazing, I loved it. When no one else seem to like it that much. I guess it’s all in your mind how you take the things you see. Whether you feel the things you see or just watch them. And sometimes, something, out of the blue, triggers your deepest most dark self that you hide behind so many walls. Like demons who lived in that haunted house. When a person dies in that house, he lives there forever. Exactly like every emotion in your mind. And heart. Emotions also die but they live there, inside you forever. They haunt you in the most mysterious ways but they don’t scare you because it’s not a scary movie, you know. It’s you. It’ not supposed to scare you. It’s just yourself. Dead but breathing. The self that you killed thinking you’ll get rid of it. But it’s still there, caged forever inside you. And it WILL haunt you.

I have lived every character while watching it. I have been to the house so many times. I have felt so much pain that could cause the stones to fall from the sky and smash windows of human logic. I have built so many walls around me that no one could enter and i thought i was safe behind those walls but in reality, i was in more danger than ever. I have been terrified of the dark shadows that haunted me, shadows that were only my own reflection in the mirror of time.  I have felt fear, the kind where you see something approaching you, something really bad, but you can’t move. You can’t do anything to save yourself. And that bad thing, it gets closer. And that fear, it gets stronger. So strong that your heart stops beating. And.. I have felt love that poisons you to death.

And I… I wander through the house for hours, with madness that makes me sane. And then I put this madness aside whenever it gets just a little weaker, with every voice approaching me from the outside world. The more I listen to the world outside, the weaker this madness gets. And then I am out, again. In the world… to conquer it. But that house, that dark haunted house, it stays inside me. With it’s firm walls and sensibly shut doors. With silence that sits on the floors while waiting for me, with it’s back against those firm walls.

And me? I promise myself never to go back to the house again. The same promise, that I have broken a hundred times before.

 

 

Waiting For A Dead Promise

Credits : This

It starts with a heavy pinpoint, sharp, deep in the middle of my heart. As I read Mic’s letter, it swells and blooms, licks like fire through my veins.

It’s a cold windy day and I’m at the window table trying to read the first letter he sent me. At least that is what I should be doing but I spend more time watching the dry leaves clattering across the sidewalk.

I sat here daily, for twenty years with a shotgun in hand. That shotgun is replaced by letters now.

He said, “I’d come back to you no matter what happens”.

I promised him, “I’ll wait for you, forever”

It’s growing dark and the streets are already empty. It has been a chilly, depressing day. I could hear howling wind and one long, repeated call — a bird perhaps.

The feeling I felt then, was love underneath, but it was wrapped in something hard and cold and perpetual.

Death.

Death has followed me for 40 years. Death came for my father first, it sputtered him out like a spent candle. I was seven then. 10 years later it took my mother. Everything I ever loved was gone with the tilt and flare of a scented candle against a curtain. Since then, I resolved never to put myself in a situation that could shatter the way my childhood did. The only way to avoid death was to run.

It worked perfectly for nine years until I met Mic. I felt life exuding from him, surging and bright. For a moment I was certain Death must be looking elsewhere. It stirred at my shoulder, tickled my ear, reminded me it was watching, waiting, poised to poison anyone I opened my heart to.

Everyday little letters from Mic, yellow envelopes addressed in green pen, would wait for me. I replied back, I told him about my father, my mother. About Death on my shoulder.

That day, I was woken from a lay-in by a tentative knock at the door. It was Mic. I was overwhelmed, frozen. He dived at me, wrapped his arms around me. My heartbeats were so golden and warm Death didn’t stand a chance.

You can’t keep him… Death whispered, nervous. Run, before it hurts.

It offered me it’s most enthusiastic ‘contrafibularities‘ that could never be defined just as death could never be defined.

I smiled. And said yes to Mic’s proposal. Because I thought Death couldn’t catch either of us if we’d run together.

The shrill call comes again, thin, high, and mournful. What kind of bird calls like that? Something is out there.

The wind is tapping branches against the window. I look out but see nothing. Dusk is falling but the street lamps are not on yet. Then I see a tiny movement right under my window. Something is crouching below the marigold bushes. A hurt bird, perhaps?

After they reported Mic dead, I began to keep the shotgun next to the front door.

I’d sit for hours beside my window table staring outside, thinking that the day he’d return, reeking of decay, I’d run a finger down the barrel of the shotgun, propped beside me.

“Thank you for coming. I waited for you” I’d say.

“I promised.” He’d smile under the bullet hole they would have put through his forehead. Dried blood would flake off of his eyelid when he’d blink.

“I’m not coming with you,” I’d say.

“Death has done us part. Let it join us together once again.” He’d say.

“I have decided to fight against it” I’d tell him.

I drape myself in a warm brown shawl and open the door to see what that thing is.

A small bundle of grey fur, a tiny kitten, hope ? almost lost in the gloom. It meows, a thin, desperate sound.

When I pick it up, it is ice cold and I can feel every vertebrae. It’s nothing but a skeleton. I look out for any scratches or bites, she was safe. I take it into the warmth and give her milk. It opens great green eyes and looks at me. It rumbles in an attempt to purr. After a while it curls up in my lap.

Some people don’t understand the promises they’re making when they make them, he can’t blame me for breaking mine. Before moving on, for twenty years, with a shotgun in my hand, I sat there and waited, but he never came back.

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Okay I’m in love with the zombie apocalypse, the idea fascinates me so much. I’m sorry if it disgusts you 😉 The story is written about the time when zombies would be somehow sensible, they’d actually remember things rather than just “Brains”.

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More or less 740 words story written for speakeasy. The challenge this time was to use, “I sat there and waited, but he never came back” as the last line and give some kind of reference to  a scene from the British comedy show,  Blackadder the Third. Hope you enjoyed. Click on the badge to see detailed rules and other entries on Tuesday.

The Magnificent Woman

Source

I am in love with that wonderful women who performs on the stage and people hold their breaths, their hearts skip the beats and magic of her glory en-wraps them in ecstatic joys — People say that she knows spell of bewitchment and she makes people unconscious by casting it but I don’t believe this, her magical beauty is mysterious enough to get entranced in.

She has booked a room that was abandoned for forty years, the room that is well known by a story that a woman burnt herself and her child here, forty years ago.

I can hear my own foot steps as I walk towards her room, my heart beats in my ears and I feel shivers while walking through that dead silent corridor but my fear is invaded over by excitement to meet that magnificent lady.

The door opens with an unfamiliar noise, tearing apart the intense silence — There lies a coffin in the center of an empty room and I am in a trance of that glowing beauty again as I open the cover.

I try to pull her out wondering who may have imprisoned my love inside the coffin, when I feel my leg clutched by tiny hands — I turn around and see a small child looking towards me with pain in eyes… Everything went dark.

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A Flash fiction written for Lillie McFerrin Writes : Five Sentence Fiction – Clutch. We have to include the word “clutch” in our story and take inspiration from the photo given. Five sentences is what this challenge requires, no word limit. Click on the link if you want to participate.

Cannibal

Source: Joycreations.

His sharp knife pierced through the flesh and cut it to pieces at a single jerk. It was the lower part of a leg. Upper part was already cut. A head smoothly cut apart from the neck was laying at a corner of the table. Small pieces about the size of 3 inches each were arranged along the sides. After cutting the leg into similar pieces he put them along with the others.

Then he leaned towards the head and pulled out the eyes, one by one with the tip of his knife. He saved the eyes in a small glass bowl and licked the stains on his fingers.

After that,he pulled in some air, grabbed a big bucket in both his hands and started pouring a viscous red fluid into the bottles, one by one. When all the bottles got filled, he closed the lids tightly and put them one by one in the lower shelf of his almost empty fridge, a single half filled bottle of this red fluid was already lying there. Head was placed on the first shelf and finely cut meat pieces went on the middle ones.

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He opened his eyes while laying under the blue sky and green grass midst a row of long trees. After his blur vision got clear he realized that he was present in an alien place. Wiping off his hands he stood up.

The last thing that was saved in his vivid memory was a fight with her mom and he ran away from home after that. “It’s been two days, she must be worried for me” He thought to himself, setting the school bag on his shoulder.

He gazed for a while at a light shining far away at the end of the long road and followed it. It was coming out from a bulb hung on the roof of a small wood house. He knocked at the door and pushed it inside.

The door opened with a sharp squeak. He glanced inside, a man was sitting on a chair. A glass half filled with a red viscous fluid was lying on the table in front of him. “Can I come inside?”

An evil smile occupied his face. “Yes kid, come in !” He said in a heavy voice and locked the door behind him.

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Daily Prompt:show us CLOSE.

This story is written for Write on Edge. This challenge gives us two options, whether to write about the quote or about the photo. I chose the photo. Click on the badge to see complete guidelines and to participate.

The Red Letter

“No-way, this is not possible !” She screamed…..

Her soft breaths gradually converted to heavy fast storms. Her heart beats were drumming in her ears as if they’ll tear apart her ribs. She could feel uncountable needles stabbing in her head. She fell down……

“Not again, No” She was crying and shrieking hysterically.

“What happened Mama?” Her 7 years old son, Ali, came running towards her.

She looked at his face, she couldn’t. Grabbing his hand she pulled him towards herself and embraced him in her arms.

“Nothing My Love, I won’t let anything happen to you” Gazing at the red letter in her hand, she sighed.

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Rachael was drowned in the valley of thoughts while Ali was sleeping right beside her. Windows were closed and the room was dark and silent. Sometimes a gust of frosted wind would scatter the silence with its whispers.

They were a happily-ever-after family 7 years ago. Ali wasn’t born by that time. Her two sons and beloved husband shared the same house where today, silence regulates.

When Rachael received this red letter for the first time, she was unknown of the consequences. She came to know when the very next day, her husband met an accident and he passed away.

She was scattered. She would never have related the death to that letter if one by one, both her sons wouldn’t have passed away in the same mysterious manner.

She was sure there was ‘something’ behind all this. Something esoteric, something inexplicable.

And now she had received that red letter again. Her baffled mind started freezing with the weather.

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A sound woke her up. She felt like she had heard a whisper. She checked Ali, he was sleeping. She checked the time, it was 2 o’ clock at night.

A sudden sharp cracking sound outside the window startled her. Her heart beat and pulse rate were at a race. She slipped towards the window slowly and peeked through the glass. She couldn’t see anything. It was dark and calm.

She took a long sigh.

She turned back. A panic-stricken scream welled up and burst out of her mouth. Her eyes bulged out with shock and dark condensed clouds blocked her mind.

The bed was vacant, Ali was gone.

A furiously loud knock at the door drummed in her ears……

To Be Continued……….